Shouts and Groans
by friendlyneighborhoodfairy
Summary: Rogue is triggered, remembering a physical assault that changed his life. Sting cuddles up to him, and through physical affection is able to help him through it. [Stingue angsty smut.]


**A/N:** Happy birthday to DreamingofFairys. ^_^ Angsty Stingue smut just like you (unknowingly) requested. **Explicit.**

My enbie Rogue frequently uses he/him pronouns. A totally valid choice for enbies.

* * *

 **Shouts and Groans**

They say the body remembers. They say that trauma will revisit you, even trauma you don't remember, even trauma you think you've moved past.

Thunder crashed again, like a fist breaking down the door, and Rogue huddled deeper into the covers.

Tears pooled in the corner of his eye, ran sideways across his nose, and blurred the other eye. The comforter felt like a wall, like it could protect him, but he also remembered it was just cloth, that a knife or even strong fingers could rend it apart and get to him.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, fast enough to be insistent, but not so loud as to scare him.

"Rogue," Sting called, voice anxious but controlled. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"

Rogue gave a little moan and pulled the covers tighter. He couldn't get up: the tightness in his muscles wouldn't let him move, and he was terrified if he left his cave of safety someone would jump out at him, or he'd trip over something and fall and break bones and everything would be darkness and pain again.

After more knocking, the door opened and soft footsteps padded in.

"Rogue? Are you okay?"

Rogue whimpered, startling when more thunder rolled outside, but he didn't jump when Sting touched his shoulder and perched behind him on the edge of the bed.

"Can I help?"

Rogue exposed the top bit of his face.

"No," he said, looking forlornly at Sting.

Kicking off his shoes, Sting slid behind him under the covers.

"What are you feeling?" Sting murmured, spooning his back and massaging over his tense muscles.

"Don't like the storm," Rogue said, hand twitching to pull the covers back over their heads. But it was hard to breathe in there.

"I know." Sting rubbed his back. "Want to come out into the living room? I'll heat up some soup and we can watch Netflix."

"I…can't."

It sounded comforting, but his joints refused to move.

"Okay." Sting's voice was gentle and at peace. Closing his eyes, Rogue tried to soak it in.

His body ached all over. He felt out of control. Always out of control of his body. And people would hurt him for being different and…

Another shaky breath and more tears followed.

"It's stupid," Rogue said, wiping his eyes. "It's just a storm. It's not even…I'm not outside. There's no one around. The setting is completely different. It's a different time of year. I just…"

"It's dark and stormy and you're scared," Sting said. "That's not stupid. Feelings are valid."

Amid silent tears, Rogue wished he could keep his shoulders from shaking.

"My hip hurts," he whispered.

Sting made an immediate sound of concern. "Did you get injur—"

"It feels like it did," he whispered. "I know it's just my memory, but I can't make it go away."

Sting gave a consternated hum and wrapped his arms around Rogue, pulling him against his chest.

Even with this comfort, Rogue couldn't stop crying.

"It _hurts,_ " he said again, and the pain intensified as he spoke. "Like it's shattered all over again—"

"No," Sting murmured, "It's not. It's not…"

Grabbing his hand, Rogue squeezed painfully tight, needing Sting to ground him and keep him here. Away from a night he could barely remember.

"Distract me," Rogue said thickly, wiping at tears that just kept coming. "Keep my mind off it."

"How…?"

"I'm in pain and I don't want to be and just…just _do_ something."

Sting gripped him close, hand flat on Rogue's chest, and began humming. He was off-tune and his voice warbled with emotion, but Rogue didn't care, with Sting's breath light against his hair and fingers curling against the cloth of his shirt.

Suddenly Rogue's clothes felt restrictive. Like they were caging him in, keeping him in place to get kicked and beaten down and broken into unconsciousness.

 _I'm different,_ he thought, over and over again, until the words hated him, but: _But I'm not lesser._

Kicking weakly at the comforter, Rogue struggled out of his shirt, Sting helping him when he realized what Rogue was trying to do. Rogue's limbs were still in tight knots from the adrenaline, but he managed to evict trousers, socks, and shorts onto the floor, leaving him naked in the humid air.

"Feeling better, love?" Sting asked as Rogue panted against his chest.

"Fuck me," Rogue said.

Sting kissed his ear. "Huh?"

"Please?" Rogue twisted around until he could meet Sting's eyes, upset by the sorrow there. "Let's fuck. I just…I want to feel you."

Sting's eyes bored into his for a long moment, then he leaned in for a kiss, biting Rogue's lip.

"Okay," he said, and his tone changed, an undercurrent of seduction.

Sting slid out of his clothes much more sensually, watching Rogue has he did it and letting Rogue run his palms up and down Sting's chest, until Sting was nude and Rogue cupped him, causing Sting to gasp and grip his shoulders.

"Oh my gods, Rogue," he muttered, crawling across the bed and tugging Rogue's hip so they faced each other. "I was already getting hard just looking at you."

Kissing him again, Sting wrapped his hand around both of them and started stroking.

Rogue's full cock was incredibly sensitive, a desperate edge to his desire, so that each stroke sent pleasure shooting through his entire body.

"Shit, Sting, Stinnng," he gasped.

"Here, love." Sting kissed him, tantalizing him, lips barely touching Rogue's before Rogue grabbed him by the neck and pulled him down.

As Rogue rolled onto his back, he pulled Sting on top of him, Sting now rutting their cocks together while he supported himself on his arms.

"Fuck," Rogue moaned.

"You're getting close," Sting said, and Rogue nodded.

"Gonna…oh, gods…"

When Rogue arched his back, Sting dove down his body, taking Rogue in until his cock hit the back of Sting's throat, and swallowing around his tip.

"Shit!" Rogue cried, and came, no time to give warning as his body surged into paradise against Sting's.

He looked down in time to see Sting's throat bob as he swallowed, and _fuck_ if that wasn't one of the sexiest sights.

"Fuck, you're… Your mouth…" Panting, Rogue pulled weakly at Sting's shoulders, urging him back up the bed. Rogue had melted into the mattress, his body finally relaxing by some command other than his own. "You—I feel…"

"You deserve to feel that way," Sting said, wiping his mouth. "You deserve the world."

Rogue made a choked noise. "Love you."

"Mmm, you too." Sting nuzzled his neck.

"Fuck me?" Rogue asked.

"Hm?" Sting looked up at him lazily. "Now?"

"Do you not wanna?"

Sting hummed and grated slowly against Rogue's body, his cock in stiff evidence against Rogue's thigh.

"Please," Rogue whispered, bringing his leg up to the side. "Please—"

He broke off as Sting's fingers moved over his ass. The emotion that sprang into Rogue's heart was gentle and encompassing.

"Can I use my mouth?" Sting asked, circling and beginning to press his fingertips gently inside. "I mean, you just showered…"

"Go ahead," Rogue nodded, eyes fluttering shut at the sensations.

He opened his mouth to pant when Sting lowered again and moved his tongue over Rogue's entrance. There were a few seconds of gentle probing, and then something wet and warm was inside him, and Rogue tensed automatically in anticipation, getting a tongueless noise of protest from his boyfriend.

Soon Sting's lips were sucking softly at his flesh and he was moving his tongue in and out of Rogue's body while Rogue moaned and tried to hold still.

Hard hands clamped his hips and Sting's mouth moved away from him. Rogue looked down.

"Did you know," Sting said, eyes alight with something fiery and passionate, "that I love your body?"

"Mm," Rogue agreed, grabbed Sting's arms as Sting crouched over him.

"Did you know," Sting went on, "I love how you make me feel?"

"Fuck," Rogue whined, closing his eyes and trembling as Sting's cock touched him.

"Need lube?" Sting asked, but Rogue shook his head, ass still wet from Sting's cunning tongue.

Sting pressed against him, Rogue groaning and expelling a breath—and then Sting slipped into him and Sting's face transformed.

"Holy _fuck,_ that's good," Sting panted.

"Yes," Rogue said, and wrapped his leg around Sting to pull him in.

Sting moved against him, shifting in and out a bit, and then he dug his knees into the mattress and pushed smoothly into Rogue.

Rogue cried out, unafraid to be loud as Sting fucked him in a steady rhythm. He was far too exhausted from this day and from this fear to even think of being on top, much as he usually liked the idea of fucking himself on Sting's cock and watching how much Sting fell apart when he did. This was perfect today, Sting loving him, sharing with him, coming into him over and over and being here in the place of fear, so that fear could be no more.

"I love you," Sting moaned. "Fuuuuck, I love you…"

And Rogue, who knew Sting well, tensed with the last of the energy in his body, and Sting gasped at the tightness. Sting's mouth fell open and he came in great panting breaths and hard thrusts, rhythmic against Rogue's body, joining into him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Sting repeated, and Rogue grinned. He combed a hand through Sting's hair. He loved how Sting reacted to orgasm, every time like it was the first.

Still inside him, Sting laid his head on Rogue's shoulder and sighed.

"Love you," Rogue breathed, wrapping a weary arm around Sting's waist.

"Mmmm," Sting agreed.

A few minutes later, Sting asked, "How are you?"

"Better than before." Rogue smiled at him genuinely.

"Are you sure? You don't have to be."

"No, I really am. I'm less alone."

Sting grunted and hugged Rogue closer, slipping out of him as he did so. Rogue felt the telltale dribble and didn't really care. As he readjusted his legs, he let Sting tangle around him, the pair of them wrapped up in each other. It was perfect.

"Can I ask what you feel?" Sting asked. "When you're… I mean, are you scared? You said it hurts…"

"I feel phantom pain," Rogue said. "But I think that's more a result of thinking about it too much. Mostly…I'm terrified."

"Of what?"

"Them."

The word hung in the air.

"I can't really remember it," Rogue said quietly.

"I know."

"I remember the mocking," Rogue went on, staring up at the ceiling. Lying here naked with Sting, it wasn't so hard to talk about. "I remember the dress—I will _always_ remember that outfit."

"Always," Sting nodded in a haunted whisper.

Sting had admitted guiltily, when Rogue finally awoke in the hospital, that he'd thrown the garment away. _There was blood on it from your head,_ he'd said, looking nervous, when all Rogue felt was gratitude. He wouldn't have been able to look at that dress again: to see how he'd looked on that stormy night when he'd felt so beautiful and proud of who he was, and people had done their best to make him regret that.

"And…I think there were… No, I have no idea how many people. I just remember walking by, and feeling uncomfortable, and then someone shouted at me, and I tried to keep walking, and there were more insults and something hit my head…"

"That was a glass bottle," Sting said, slightly choked.

"Well, it's why I can't remember the rest."

"I'm kinda glad." Wiping his eyes, Sting tilted Rogue's chin to kiss him, the pair staring at each other as Sting caressed Rogue's cheek. "Those aren't words you ever need to hear. You don't need those messages, that…hatred. You're lovely and pure and so, so good. The world doesn't deserve you."

"Sting," Rogue chided, smiling.

"Really," Sting sniffed. "I hate that I wasn't there. I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

Rogue put his hand against the side of Sting's neck, feeling the pulse there.

"I don't need you protecting me," he said gently.

"I know." Sting stuffed his face against Rogue's shoulder. "I know you're strong and self-sufficient. I just…hate it. I hate when you're scared and I can't make the world un-scary for you. I know it's not my job, but I still wish I could."

"But you did."

Sting blinked at him.

"Do I look like I'm crying to you?" Rogue said.

"No?"

Sting sounded so uncertain that Rogue let out a surprised laugh, which Sting joined, the pair hugging each other.

Another roll of thunder came, just like all during their fucking, but Rogue tensed and then focused on Sting's weight on his chest.

"I'm not better," he said. "But I'm okay."


End file.
